Only You
by Sixteen Candl3s
Summary: AU — Paire — She was a student by day and an exotic dancer by night. He was a high class businessman. Their lives were complete opposites, but they'd come to realize that they needed each other more than they could've ever imagined.
1. Drawn

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters. Nor do I own _Cory Lee_'s song "**The Naughty Song**".

--

**Bold**—Thoughts

_Italicized_—Song Lyrics

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

--

**Summary:** She was a shy, quiet student by day and an exotic dancer by night. He was a cold hearted highclass businessman. Their lives were complete opposites, but when their paths crossed, they would come to realize that they needed each other more than they could've ever imagined.

* * *

**Chapter 1:** **Drawn**

"Dear Lord, _why_ am I doing this again?" She muttered to her image in the mirror as she began securing the red wig to her scalp.

**Oh, that's right. I'm trying to change my image, so no one will recognize me. God, I hope none of my classmates come here. Or worse, _recognize_ me. What would they say if they knew that the sweet girl in their class was really a–a_ stripper_? **Grimacing at her thoughts, Claire brushed them away as she fluffed out her red bangs and picked up a comb from the vanity mirror.

Brushing the wispy strands of fake hair away from her face, she placed the comb down and stood up to inspect herself in the full length mirror. Dark green eyes that were framed by thick, long lashes stared back at her and blush coated her cheeks, making them appear more rosier than they actually were. Her straight, fiery tresses caressed the top of her bosom and highlighted the tight red and black corset she wore.

Tilting her head to the side speculatively, Claire decided to adjust the black, satin shorts—

**Shorts? **_**Please**_**, these **_**shorts **_**could be mistaken for lingerie**, her conscience mocked; Claire immediately dismissed the notion, too tired to argue with herself.

—she wore, not quite liking the way they looked. Satisfied with the way the shorts looked, she ran her slender digits over the red and black garters wrapped around her thighs and decided that she was ready for the evening's show. Unable to stand looking at the girl in the mirror any longer, Claire turned away and looked at the other girls in the dressing room, rushing to get their appearances together.

"Claire, are you all right?" A soft voice asked.

The first thing she noticed was the concern lacing the person's words and turning to her left, Claire's eyes met the warm green eyes of her friend, Niki.

"I'm fine, Niki. But... what's the big deal? Why is everyone rushing to get ready for tonight's show?" Claire asked, cocking her head to the side curiously.

Niki's slender eyebrows rose in surprise and her eyes took on a distant glaze, "You don't know? Huh. That's strange. I thought _everyone_ knew."

"Knew_ what_?" Claire snapped irately.

**Oh, no. Niki's rubbing off on me**, she thought with a silent groan.

"Peter Petrelli, of Petrelli Designs, is coming here tonight. His assistant called earlier and informed the boss he expected one hell of a show," Niki muttered thoughtfully, tapping a painted fingernail against the side of her cheek.

"If you ask me, the guy sounds conceited as hell if he _has_ to send his assitant to do _his_ dirty work," Niki spat, her cherry coated lips twisting into a frown.

"Peter Petrelli of Pe–Petrelli Designs? Are you _serious_?" Claire groaned aloud, her eyes wide with worry.

"Yeah, why?" Niki asked, shooting Claire a concerned look.

"Petrelli Designs is the place where I want the position of an intern. Now, I'm never going to get it," Claire muttered, feeling distraught.

Niki laughed softly and Claire shot her a sour look, momentarily forgetting the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, "Claire, you really should relax. Have you looked in a mirror lately? I mean, you're wearing a wig, so you're not recognizable and your name is Kyra. Kyra and Claire sound _nothing_ alike. How will they realize that you're, well, _you_?"

Realizing Niki had a point, Claire nodded her head, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Always am," Niki answered, grinning wickedly and the grin managed to lift Claire's spirits a bit.

"Which reminds me, why _is _your name Kyra? Doesn't Kyra mean ladylike?" Niki asked speculatively.

"No offense, Claire, but when you get on stage, you are anything _but _ladylike," Niki teased with a short laugh; Claire frowned.

"Which is why you're so popular with the men," Niki grinned. "I'll see you in a bit. That's my cue."

She stepped away from Claire when she heard Sylar introducing the first act.

"Go get 'em, Tiger," Claire cheered, grinning widely; she immediately hated the fakeness of the gesture.

"Always do," Niki called, disappearing behind a curtain.

Distantly, Claire was aware of people clapping and loud music beginning to play, but guilt slowly worked its way into her heart. She took a seat near the vanity mirror, feeling faint.

**Why am I still here?** Claire thought wearily. **I mean, yeah, the money's good—actually, it's great, but I feel crummy for doing this sort of **_**work**_**. God, if my mother could see me now...**

Slanting a look at herself in the mirror once more, she captured her bottom lip between her teeth, **If my father ever found out what I was doing, he'd kill me. Or worse, disown me! But the money here is way better than the money I make at Doublemeat Palace and it helps pay for my tuition and the bills at home, but still...**

With a sigh, Claire allowed her forehead to fall onto the vanity dresser with a solid thump.

**This is going to be a **_**long**_** night**, she inwardly stressed. **I just know it.**

A gentle hand curling around her shoulder pulled her away from her brooding thoughts and she lifted her head; she saw her boss' eyes staring back at her through the vanity mirror.

"Are you all right?" His tone was incredibly soft and sincere and Claire couldn't help shivering as goosebumps broke out onto her skin.

A smile touched her glossy lips as she gently teased, "Gabriel Sylar, is that _concern_ I hear in your voice? I'm so touched."

She laughed when she saw a faint blush dusting his cheeks and stood up to face him, "I'm fine. _Really_. It's just, well, stress with school."

"Oh... Well, I'm here for you if you need me," Sylar managed to get out, flushing when Claire smiled at him warmly.

"I know. Is there anything else you want to say?" She inquired politely.

"Wha–I–Oh, yes. Since Petrelli's assitant called today and stated he expected a good show, I decided that you'll be entertaining him as soon as he gets here. After all, you _are_ my best dancer," Sylar's eyes grew hungry as his eyes found their way to her apparel appreciatively.

Claire feigned a smile, but was inwardly stressing, _**Me**_**? His best dancer? Is he **_**crazy**_**?! Now, I'll never get the position as an intern.**

"I–uh–thanks, I guess," she mumbled, unsure of what to say.

Shifting awkwardly, she said, "Well, I'd better get ready. I'll be going on soon, won't I?"

"Oh–yes. Yes, you will. I'll come and get you personally."

With that, Sylar walked past her and Claire inwardly let out a sigh of relief, **Thank God. He was making me feel uncomfortable. **

Turning towards the mirror once again, she whispered, "No one will recognize me, will they? After all, I'm Kyra. I can be whoever I want to be. Even a–a tramp."

Swallowing bitterly, Claire decided to stop talking to herself and mentally began to prepare for her routine. After all, she had to impress Peter Petrelli... in—and out—of the club.

**I was right**, she mused wistfully. **This**_** is**_** going to be a long night.**

**x-X-x**

Peter Petrelli stared out of his office suite towards the setting sun. From his position on the twentieth floor, he could see the nine to fivers—who had called it a day—making their way home. He brought the mug—that was currently being held in his right hand—to his lips and took a long sip of the warm tea inside. No matter how many times he stood in front of the glossy window, he couldn't manage to shake the feeling of surrealness that surrounded him.

Nothing more than a common street thug, he'd managed to climb out of the pits of despair and take ahold of his dream. According to the rules that governed society, he had gone from a nobody to a somebody. But, nothing came without a price and he paid a hefty fee to transcend from a teenage kid—unsure of where his next meal would come from—to a millionaire with three homes, five cars and a bounty of women to meet his every wanton desire.

He could have—and often did have—whatever he wanted, with the exception of one thing. Peter walked over to his swivel chair and took a seat. He stared at the picture of the dark-haired beauty that sat on his desk and his heart constricted—as it always did—whenever he looked at her photo. After nearly five years, she still had an effect over him, but he wasn't surprised. Simone had been the love of his life—his angel of mercy. She'd seen _beyond_ the raggedy, foul mouthed street brawler he'd been; she'd seen that he was just a hurt little boy, trying to desperately survive from day to day.

She took him in, taught him how to read and write, but most importantly, she'd taught him that there was life beyond his fists; it started with his brain and would end where ever he wanted it to. Before he'd realized it, a lump had formed in his throat; Peter rose to his feet and walked towards the window once more.

**You're being foolish again**, he silently scolded. **The life you had with Simone is lost to you now. Nothing can change that fact. You **_**need**_** to move on.**

A feeling of nostalgia swept over him, but his minute of reminiscing would have to wait as the telephone suddenly rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. Peter glanced at his watch—it read 5:15 p.m.—then made a move towards his desk; he had a pretty good idea who was on the other end.

"Peter Petrelli," he stated professionally.

"I was hoping I'd catch you, Peter," the familiar male voice said; it was followed by laughter.

"You're lucky you called when you did. I was just about to call it a night, Mohinder," Peter replied, sitting down. "_Please_ tell me that this time around, you're not going to send me another group of rejects."

"They're not _rejects_, as you'd like to call them, Peter. Actually, I think they're a rather impressive group," Mohinder said defensively.

"Impressive group or not, I only agreed to take on _one _of your _brats_," Peter scoffed, feeling bored already.

"That's what the interview process is for. You choose who stays," Mohinder answered, as if he were explaining something to a child.

"That sounds simple enough. Any suggestions?" Peter asked curiously.

"Not in particular. Although, there is _one_ outstanding student this year," Mohinder praised.

Peter smirked, **This is** **interesting. Mohinder's actually praising someone other than himself. I guess miracles do happen.**

"Oh, yeah? What's his name?" He inquired.

"_Her_ name is Claire Bennet," Mohinder sounded annoyed; Peter laughed mockingly.

"_Claire?_" Peter snorted. "What's so interesting about a girl named _Claire_? Her name alone bores me to death."

Peter feigned a yawn.

"Her name may not be all that interesting, but she's... _gifted_ and I'm quite certain you're going to be amazed when you see her work. She reminds me of you, you know. She's quite driven," Mohinder stated, sniffing in distaste when Peter yawned.

"That's what you said when you sent me that–_that_ _girl_ last year. I gave her my honest opinion of her work and she locked herself in my bathroom for four hours. _Four_ _hours_, Mohinder! I don't want any sniveling babies! I _need_ someone who understands we're here to work. I _need_ someone who's ready _and_ willing to do just that," Peter stressed, emphasizing his point.

"I recall that incident," Mohinder said with a short chuckle. "Her name was Jackie and she_ never_ recovered from _your _scathing review. She actually dropped out of the program a week after her internship with you ended."

"Her quitting wasn't my fault," Peter defended, immediately squashing the guilt seeping into his heart. "Criticism is a part of this business. If she couldn't cope with someone telling her–her _faults_, then she did the right thing by quitting."

"Someone's grouchy," Mohinder noted.

"I'm_ not_ grouchy. I'm just tired of kids who are afraid of work. You can't get anywhere by standing still," Peter sneered.

"You _would_ know, wouldn't you, Peter?" Mohinder taunted cruelly; he was met with silence on the other end of the phone. "Just remember to take it easy on my kids, all right? And for heavens sake, try not to _wound_ their precious egos too much."

"I'm not making any promises," Peter warned.

"Whatever you say, Peter. And since you're so grouchy, I have a gift for you. Call it an early birthday present," Mohinder started, choosing his words carefully; Peter could practically feel Mohinder's smirk without having to see it.

"_No_," Peter warned, knowing his friend was up to something.

"But, I haven't even said what it was," Mohinder whined childishly.

"Well, whatever it is, the answer is no. You always manage to get me into ridiculous situations," Peter said, clicking his tongue angrily; his cheeks were flushed.

"I treat you like royalty, Peter," Mohinder answered defensively.

"You're such a liar," Peter sneered.

"All right, all right, I may have left you in... _uncomfortable_ situations before, but—" Mohinder started, but was immediately cut off.

"_Uncomfortable_ _situations?!_" Peter echoed angrily. "It was more than uncomfortable, Mohinder, and you know it!"

"All right, all right. Point taken. But, I want to show you a good time tonight, Peter. If you don't have a good time, then I'll–I'll give you anything you want."

"_Anything?_" Peter asked, grinning wickedly.

Mohinder gulped, immediately regretting his choice of words, but decided to go through with them, "Yes, _anything_."

"_Deal_," Peter practically purred, his brown eyes gleaming. "Where do you want to meet?"

For a moment, Mohinder forgot his promise as he said, "That's my boy."

With a smirk, Mohinder thought, **Hook, line and sinker. This will be a night neither of us will forget.**

**x-X-x**

With a sigh full of resignation, Claire followed Sylar to her designated position behind the curtain. Her frame of mind shifted out of the brooding demeanor she wore all night, so that she could focus on the task at hand.

During the first couple of weeks of being employed as an exotic dancer, Claire had learned that the key to blocking out the lustful, hungry gazes of the audience—the hoots and hollers that made her feel self-conscious, the flood of humiliation that attacked her conscience and the uncomfortableness at dancing virtually _naked_ in front of _strangers_—was to distance herself from it all.

She would immerse herself in the attitude and mindset of her character, Kyra; a young woman who practically oozed of the word _sex_. Taking a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves, Claire ran her fingers down her apparel once more, smoothing out the wrinkles that weren't even there.

**This is it. This is my time to shine**, With a playful smile that dimpled her cheeks, Claire waited for Sylar to announce her name.

**x-X-x**

The moment he'd arrived at the place where Mohinder had wanted to show him a good time, Peter had hesitated. After all, what was so interesting about a club named _Diamond Dolls_? But, then he'd seen the smirk on Mohinder's face and the gleam in his dark eyes, _daring_ him to turn around and go home and Peter—_and_ his pride—had relented.

The instant he'd stepped inside of the club, he was immediately taken aback by the atmosphere and the enormity of the place. The entire nightclub was constructed in a fashion akin to an arena set in gladiator times and in the center of it all was the dance floor, which was encircled by three different levels of floors that all held candlelit tables and booths for those who weren't into the dance scene.

It was a perfect blend of both modern and ancient eras that only added to the dynamism of the nightclub. Exotic strobe lights bathed the interior in various hues of color that were constantly rotating along the floors, the ceiling and the walls, causing Peter's vision to become momentarily distorted; it took him more than a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.

The boisterous atmosphere blared with deafening music; the air was heavy and reeked of lust-ridden people on and off of the dance floor. Mohinder motioned for Peter to follow him since words were not necessary—or audible—with the ear splitting music pumping out of the amps that stood at either side of the stage. In the center of the stage, black curtains were drawn, so that it was impossible to tell what was going on behind them.

Peter trailed after Mohinder and past a sizable bar that was big enough to house every liquor known to man. A scantily clad bartender was pouring men drinks, while they openly observed her half-covered breasts without shame. They weaved in and out of people until they came to a rather large table that had an excellent view of the club. No sooner did they sit down did the black curtains open to reveal a young man with a microphone in hand.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he started.

Peter bristled with shock and cursed himself for being so stupid.

He turned towards Mohinder, his dark eyes accusing, "You brought me to a strip club?!"

Mohinder shushed him, his eyes bright with barely concealed excitement as the young man continued, "Without further ado, here's the one and only Kyra!"

Hoots of appreciation flooded the club and anger welled within Peter. He opened his mouth to speak, but all words suddenly left him as the thick, black curtains opened to reveal a young woman stretching on the floor of the stage. Soft fluorescent light focused on her as she languidly rose from her position on the floor to the tempo of the music.

_I know that you're down by the way you're watching me,  
You take my words away and I can hardly speak,  
There's just room for two in my fantasy,  
So, baby, lose your crew and come away with me_

Peter breathed in sharply as Kyra's face came into his view. His eyes widened slightly and his blood ignited into flames of desire as Kyra arched upward to the rhythm of the music and came to her feet gracefully.

He tried to stare at something else other than her attractive facial features and the fullness of her breasts, but his eyes refused to budge and remained glued to the dancer named Kyra, who'd somehow entranced him with her beauty and graceful movements.

_Turn down the lights and light up the party,  
I got the ride and you got the naughty,  
Leave your boys with my girls tonight,  
Come home with me_

Every thought he had disappeared, leaving his jaw lax and his mind empty. Skin that looked as if it had been coated in honey, piercing green eyes and fiery colored hair all came together to create one glorious orgasm.

Then, her eyes met his heated ones and the intensity and animalistic hunger stirred something within Claire. Her knees suddenly became weak as she realized who she was staring at—she'd seen his face in the tabloids and on television enough to know exactly who he was; Peter Petrelli.

* * *


	2. Touched

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters. Nor do I own _Cory Lee_'s song "**The Naughty Song**".

--

**Bold**—Thoughts

_Italicized_—Song Lyrics

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

* * *

**Chapter 2:** **Touched**

**Oh, God, **_**why**_** does he have to be **_**so**_** cute? **Claire swallowed thickly as her brain momentarily shut down.

She faltered in her dance routine for a moment and silently cursed her traitorous body as tingles began in all sorts of places; there was just something too entirely erotic about the weight of Peter Petrelli's stare that made her knees grow weak—something that exuded arrogant power and made her think of sinful things.

Dimly hearing the music playing in the background, Claire realized she needed to finish her dance routine and forcefully tore her gaze away from Peter's. She brought her focus back to what she was supposed to be doing, even though the desire to look into those dark eyes of his was intensifying. Relaxing her face, she smiled seductively; her scarlet hair flew about her shoulders as her body swayed to the sultry pulse of the music.

__

Come home with me asap,  
Tonight's the night and it's only just begun,  
All the boys and the girls are gonna fuck tonight,  
So, turn the naughty on

Claire strut down the right side of the stage—she inwardly told herself she wasn't doing it to get away from Peter's hypnotizing eyes; instead, it was to give _everyone_ one hell of a show—and inwardly cursed Sylar for making her the entertainment for a man who probably expected a lot more than she could give.

Wrapping her fingers around one of the thick, metallic poles, Claire began to grind against it suggestively; she inwardly smirked when the males in the audience reacted instantly.

**Men are **_**so**_** easy. I wonder if Mr. Petrelli** **is–Gah, what am I thinking?** Claire mentally chastised herself.

She forced herself to concentrate on the music, knowing that there was only a little bit of choreography left.

_I like what you say by the way you rock your shoes,  
And the way you wear your smile...  
Got me really digging you,  
All this bump and grind makes everyone a freak_

Peter almost fell out of his chair when he saw Kyra begin to grind herself against one of the poles on the right side of the stage that had nearly every man in the audience standing on their feet; they let out_ loud_, _suggestive_ whistles and began tossing their money like starving animals.

He was pretty sure he let an angry noise when his view was cut off as people stood up to see what was going on on the right side of the stage—he was also sure that he was about to get up and start shoving people out of the way, so that he could see what Kyra was doing. However, when he felt the pressure of a hand grip his wrist, he turned to his left and glared at Mohinder.

"What?" He barked.

A knowing grin teased the corners of Mohinder's lips.

"Don't sound so hostile, my friend. After all, you were quite reluctant to come here earlier. Are you actually _enjoying_ my gift?" He inquired, his dark eyes glittering with amusement.

Peter flushed in embarrassment, **What's **_**wrong**_** with me? I'm angry because people are blocking my view from a **_**stripper's **__**show**_**?! I can have any woman I want.**

Peter immediately dismissed his thoughts, feeling ridiculous for getting so worked up over some unknown woman. Unfortunately, his mental banter did nothing to quell the urgency within him; he just wanted to get another glimpse of Kyra's lovely face_ and_ assets.

"Jesus," Peter huffed in annoyance.

"It's okay, Peter," Mohinder pat Peter's hand soothingly. "Your time will come. Just you wait."

_So, baby, lose your crew and run away with me,  
Tonight's the night and it's only just begun,  
All the boys and the girls are gonna fuck tonight,  
So, turn the naughty on_

When Peter got his second glimpse of Kyra, he grew angry that he didn't see her take off the satin shorts that caressed her bronzed legs. However, he immediately forgave the people that blocked his view from her when he saw the low rise thong that skimmed the smooth planes of her hip.

**Remember to smile and wink suggestively**, Claire inwardly told herself.

Although she knew her dance routine inside out, she liked to repeat it to stay focused. After all, her performance didn't look good if she allowed the audience to distract her.

**You would know, wouldn't you, Claire?** Her conscience mocked. **After all, you allowed the man you hope will be your new boss to divert your attention.**

Gritting her teeth in agitation, Claire sauntered to the center of the stage, where her performance was now coming to an end. However, a sudden case of self-consciousness attacked her when she began to do intricate twists and turns in front of Peter and it seemed that no amount of concentration could subdue it.

**This is it, Claire. Don't mess up now**, Claire went through the rest of her movements with great difficulty.

Her heart was fluttering in her chest like a caged bird and her stomach was churning as though she were on a roller coaster ride. Her mind was working a mile a minute and she grew angry at her lack of control over her body, which didn't obey her command to stop blushing furiously under his penetrating gaze. She threw herself into the last few moves of her dance routine to rid her mind of the burning passion in his dark gaze that terrorized and fascinated her in equal parts—_Damn it!_

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Claire decided she was ready to finish her performance, but she wasn't prepared for the smell that invaded her nostrils; the musky scent of his cologne made her feel dizzy and intoxicated—she briefly wondered what the hell was wrong with her.

_Got to get you out of my mind,  
Got to get you out of my head,  
Got to get you into my life,  
Got to get you in my... bed_

Unfortunately for her, Claire's last move left her inches away from Peter's face. With an inaudible sigh of resignation, she figured that this would be a good time as any to bestow him with a kiss since he was the star attraction for the night. She reluctantly leaned forward to promptly plant a peck on his cheek, but what she hadn't anticipated was for him to tilt his head towards her at the last minute and a jolt of electricity to go through her when their lips made contact.

Shock registered in her brain before anything else. Claire never imagined that a man like Peter—a man who seemed cold and distant in the tabloids and on television—would have soft, pliant lips.

She pulled away quickly, her green eyes a mixture of confusion and embarrassment, **What... just_ happened_?**

Claire's gaze sought Peter's—she wanted some sort of confirmation that what just happened between them wasn't a figment of her imagination. Breathing hard, she waited until the lights dimmed and the music finally died away before she made a move to stand. Before she could get up from her crouched position, however, Peter grasped her wrist.

Even with the pitch blackness blanketing the club in a cloak of darkness, Claire could see his eyes glinting; there was something predatory in his gaze that sent tremors racing down her spine. He leaned forward and his nose brushed against hers almost tenderly. His eyes never left hers and she shivered involuntarily when his warm breath caressed her face.

"You've earned this," Peter murmured softly, tucking a roll of bills into the side of her low rise thong.

His warm fingers lingered longer than necessary on her skin and Claire couldn't help trembling underneath his touch. The feelings his fingers were evoking within her snapped her out of her lapse of sanity just as the lights came back on and her heart sank when she saw the condescending sneer that curled at the corner of his mouth.

"You know, for one of the most classiest joints in New York, they sure do like to employ whores. But, what else can I expect from a club called_ Diamond Dolls_?" Peter snickered lowly.

Choking back tears she _refused_ to shed, Claire resisted the urge to run out of the room and away from jerk who had just insulted her. Abruptly getting to her feet, she tore her gaze from his amused one and plastered a fake smile on her face for the audience as they applauded and whistled. Even as she made her way back upstage, she could still feel Peter's heated stare and still hear his ridiculing words.

**Of all the cruel things he could've said**, Claire thought furiously, her cheeks coloring.** I can't **_**believe**_** I want to **_**work**_** for him. I never want to see that–that**_** jerk**_** again!**

Claire resisted the urge to stomp her foot as she took her place next to Sylar when he came back onto the stage.

"Give it up for Kyra!" Sylar yelled into the microphone.

Cheers erupted all over the place and Sylar turned to Claire, his eyes growing warm.

"You did good tonight, Claire-bear," he murmured affectionately, his fingers brushing against one of her reddened cheeks.

Claire smiled appreciatively, "Thanks."

Without another word to Sylar, Claire marched backstage and into the dressing room. It took her a short amount of time to reach her destination and Claire took the roll of bills out of her low rise thong; she stared at it for a long moment and then clenched the money angrily.

She resisted the urge to scream in frustration, **God, it wasn't like I was trying to purposely kiss him. It just happened.**

With a sigh, Claire picked up her duffel bag and placed it on the dresser. She tossed the wad of bills into the bag, disgusted with herself for allowing Peter to hurt her with his words.

**Bastard**, she thought with a scowl.

Quickly changing out of her skimpy get-up, Claire put on the street clothes she came with, grateful that her night from hell was just about over with. Walking into one of the connecting bathrooms, Claire washed the make-up off of her face. Once that was done, she padded back into the dressing room.

Throwing all of her belongings into her duffel bag, Claire made sure that she had everything and glanced at the mirror for confimation. Seeing the filthy red wig on her head, she quickly tore it off. Tossing it into the bag, she zipped it up and hooked it over one of her shoulders. She picked up her house keys from the vanity dresser and exited the room. On her way to the side exit, Claire ran into Sylar.

"I'm leaving. I'll see you in a couple of days," Claire muttered, shifting from one leg to the other.

"All right... Claire, I meant what I said. You did great tonight," Sylar said warmly.

"Thanks. Bye," Claire said, continuing towards the side exit.

**I'll be so glad when I get home**, Claire thought.

The anger she felt earlier began to ebb away at the notion of climbing into her bed and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. With a smile, Claire began to make her way home.

**x-X-x**

**She smells like blueberries**, Peter thought dimly.

He stared at the closed curtains that Kyra had just disappeared through. His pulse raced wildly from her erotic performance and his brain was fogged with sweet nothingness. There was something about Kyra that made his mouth water—something about that smile of hers that called to him.

Peter shook his head at the sudden direction of his thoughts, **What am I **_**thinking**_**? No one has enticed me like this since Simone passed away. God, she's just a stripper!**

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Peter rasped, "I should go..."

**... Before I do something I regret.**

**Haven't you already done something you regret?** A nasty, little voice asked slyly from deep within his head. **You've just insulted a girl you hardly know.**

**I was—I–I didn't mean to...** Peter inwardly tried to justify himself to the little voice in his head.

**Nah, ah, ah, Peter. I'm always going to know the truth. Don't you feel bad that you almost made that girl **_**cry**_**? Or are you blind as well?**

Peter scowled, **I did **_**not **_**make that girl cry. I'm not that cruel.**

**It has been a long time since you've been with anyone that you're attracted to. Why don't you indulge yourself?** His conscience asked.

**Because she's a fucking _stripper_! How many _diseases_ do you think she's picked up?** Peter tried to rationalize.

**How many _techniques_ do you think she's learned? Don't you want to have some _fun_?** His conscience shot back.

Peter began to beat his forehead with his hand, **God, don't I look smart. I'm talking to myself. I **_**knew**_** I shouldn't have come here.**

Fortunately enough for him, a hand on his shoulder saved him from further conversation—with himself—on the subject that was tearing him apart.

"Go?" Mohinder echoed, confusion evident in his tone.

"Yeah, go," Peter confirmed with a stiff nod.

"Why? Did you find Kyra's performance unsatisfactory?" Mohinder asked, cocking a brow.

"No," Peter grudgingly admitted.

Mohinder smirked, "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

Peter glared at him, "I said _no_."

"So, you agree that Kyra's performance was magnificent? I've never seen anyone with such grace and fluidity in all of my life. Of course, I grew up in a sheltered home, so that might have something to do with it," Mohinder rubbed his chin contemplatively, feigning ignorance to Peter's growing agitation.

"And did you see her legs? My God, Peter, I—"

"All right already," Peter spat, his eyes blazing.

"What did I do?" Mohinder questioned innocently. "All I did was comment on the gorgeous features of an amazing dancer."

"I get the point, Mohinder," Peter hissed.

"Does this mean you had a good time tonight, Peter?" Mohinder questioned with a knowing smirk.

Peter glared at him and folded his arms across his chest, "You already know the answer."

"See, I told you I treat you like royalty," Mohinder said; Peter snorted.

"Oh, come on already. Admit it. You're not fooling anyone," Mohinder pointed out.

"_Fine_," Peter ground out through clenched teeth.

"You were right. You won the bet... for now. I'll see you around Mohinder," Peter called.

Mohinder watched as Peter began to make his way out of the club, a strange glint dancing in his dark eyes.

Glancing at the closed curtains, he mused, **Somehow, that girl seemed really... familiar.**

He shook his head and decided to leave as well. After all, he had a class to teach in the morning.

* * *


	3. Sentiment

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters.

--

_Italicized_—Dream Sequence

**Bold**—Thoughts

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3:** **Sentiment**

Like everyone else, Claire couldn't wait until Doctor Mohinder Suresh's lecture ended. His class usually never lasted more than two hours, but not today; he seemed exceptionally long winded and purposely so, since most of what he was talking about had little relevance to the actual class itself.

_**Great.**_** He's deliberately tormenting us**, Claire concluded, allowing her head to drop onto her desk with a solid thump.

For two months, the visual art students at Union Wells University competed against one another for the coveted position of an intern for Petrelli Designs, one of the fastest, interactive firms to date. The hours had been grueling and the pressure had been high, but Claire was determined to claim the internship as her own.

**Or, at least, I **_**was**_** until that imbecile of a man insulted me**, she thought, feeling disgruntled.

**You're still angry about that? Jesus, Claire, it's been five days since you've last seen that man and you're still angry he called you a whore?** Her conscience asked.

Scoffing, Claire thought, **Of course I'm still angry. And, urgh, **_**why**_** am I bothering to explain myself to you?**

Ignoring her conscience, Claire lifted her head and brought her attention back to what Mohinder was saying; after eight weeks into the competition, he was finally going to announce the five finalists based on the submitted drawings.

Claire gnawed her on bottom lip nervously, **I'm good at what I do. Why am I doubting myself? Art's my life. **

Still, she had to admit to herself, although she was quite talented, she could look around the classroom and easily pick out ten students who were more talented than she was.

**It's going to be a stiff competition**, Claire thought, her brow creasing. **But I expect no less from an elite University like Union Wells. This is the kind of environment that makes me want to push myself to the limit.**

The last three years at Union Wells University had done just that, forcing an awkward, shy teenager to become aggressive and competitive. She'd studied hard and had poured her all into her work, realizing that this was her dream; a chance to work under the tutorship of a gifted designer like Peter Petrelli was a once in a life time deal. At that moment, Claire's only concern was getting her foot into the door of a renowned firm like Petrelli Designs. If she could do that, she figured she was going to be a guaranteed first pick from all of the top notch firms when she finally graduated from college the following year.

"I know you're all eager to know the results of the contest after months of hard work," Claire heard Mohinder say; she blinked and immediately directed all of her attention to him.

"Narrowing it down to five students out of a class of two-hundred students proved to be a daunting task, but I somehow pulled through. Before I proceed, however, I would like to say that you're all very talented artists; some of the most talented I've seen in awhile, but it takes_ more_ than talent to make it in this business," Mohinder fixed his gaze on Claire and she blushed, knowing what he was referring to; the fact that she'd been sleeping in his class three times this week didn't escape his knowledge.

"You're all free thinkers. You should always be willing to test the boundaries of your imagination, ensuring that we never run out of wonderful masterpieces. Everything I've said today is what I've based my final selections on," Mohinder said, choosing his words carefully. "The list of the five finalists has been placed on the bulletin board outside of the classroom. If your name is on the list, please return to the classroom for further instructions. Class dismissed."

Claire bolted to her feet and began to make her way towards the exit, but Mohinder's voice stopped her from doing so, "Miss Bennet, a word, if you will."

With an inward groan, Claire began to make her way towards Mohinder, knowing what he was going to say.

"Miss Bennet, are you feeling ill?" Mohinder started curiously.

Claire blushed again, "No, Doctor Suresh. Why do you ask?"

**So, this is how she wants to play it. All right, let the games begin.**

"You seem awfully tired lately, Miss Bennet. Are things well at home?" He questioned, arching a thick brow.

"I'd say so," Claire began, her eyes growing hard. "Since I live alone, Doctor Suresh."

"Oh, I see," Mohinder mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." Claire paused and bit her bottom lip contemplatively. "It's just work that has me so tired."

"All right, Miss Bennet. Just please get some adequate rest at home. I don't want to see someone talented like you lose sight of what's important. You may leave," Mohinder said.

"Yeah. Bye," Claire muttered.

By the time she reached the corridor, it was packed with students jockeying for a spot near the bulletin board where the list had been posted.

"So, do you think you made the cut, Claire-bear?" A husky voice resonated from behind her just as an arm was slung over her shoulder.

Claire glanced at the boy that had just announced his presence to her and then directed her attention back to the group of students, "Psyche class out already, Zach?"

"You already _know_ the answer, Claire. I don't know why you bother asking the same question every other day. I was bored to tears by Claude's lecture," Zach yawned. "I could barely keep my eyes open."

"You know, I don't understand why you're taking psychology when you're not all that interested," Claire commented offhandedly.

"I _am_ interested in psychology," Zach quipped, pouting cutely. "When it's all said and done, I'm going to be the_ best_ sex therapist ever. And you, Claire-bear, are going to be the best graphic designer ever."

"I'm not so sure," Claire replied, watching as one student after the next walked away from the bulletin board, their shoulders slumped with defeat.

"So, did you make the cut?" Zach asked curiously.

"I don't know. I haven't read the list yet," Claire muttered.

"Well, you can't read it from over here. What are you waiting for?" Zach grabbed Claire by the hand and attempted to root her from her spot, but she wasn't budging.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm afraid to look," Claire muttered, feeling distraught; she watched another boy from her class walk away with the unmistakable look of failure on his face.

"Oh, my God. Did you _see_ his _face_?" She exclaimed, turning to look at Zach.

"That could be _me_ in a couple of minutes, only I probably won't be composed as the people who've already read the results before me," A look of horror dawned on her face. "Oh, God. What if I failed? What if I didn't make it?"

"Why wouldn't you make it?" Zack asked curiously.

"Well, there are at least ten other people that I can name off of the top of my head that are far better designers than I'll ever hope to be," Claire sighed, turning to look at the bulletin board again.

From her observation, three of her classmates had made the list, which meant that there were only two slots left; her heart beat quickened, "Doctor Suresh is an expert in his field. If he says my work isn't good enough, then it's over. I'll have no chance to get into a good firm after graduation."

"Jesus, stop doubting yourself," Zach huffed, taking Claire by the hand and dragging her over to the dwindling line.

"No one deserves this chance more than you. You're dedicated and hard working and you're gifted. If Doctor Suresh can't see your promise, then, well, who needs him? What he thinks doesn't mean your dream of becoming a graphic designer dies. It means that you'll continue to work your ass off and get picked up by a leading firm. Now, get your butt up there and read your name on that list."

Claire squared her shoulders and took a step forward; her head was spinning and her palms were wet with perspiration.

**Everything I've worked for has brought me here now. Being accepted into this school proved that I have the drive to excel and meet my goals...** **but will that be enough? Do I have enough talent to turn my dreams of designing logos into a reality? Or will my dreams remain just a dream?** It was finally her turn to look at the list and her legs felt like jelly.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled.

"I can do this," she muttered, opening her eyes and placing her finger on the list of names.

She trailed her finger across the first name—Isaac Mendez—and then the next—Lori Tramell.

She was ready to read the third name listed when Zach said pointedly, "Christ, Claire. Your name is the last name on the list. See?"

"It is... It is," Claire gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.

"I did it! I did it!" She jumped up and down and hugged Zach.

Zach scoffed, "Of course you did. I never doubted you once."

"Thanks, Zach. I don't know what I'd do without you," Claire said with a laugh, feeling like a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Zach's eyes darkened, "I know what I'd do with you."

Claire flushed and then smirked, "Really? Well, I hope that consists of bending me over your knee and spanking me."

Zach grinned, "Tease."

Claire's lips quirked, "I've got to go see Mohinder for the instruction on what I'll need to do next. So, I'll see you later, okay?"

Not giving Zach the chance to reply, Claire headed towards Mohinder's classroom again, a strange feeling dancing in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of seeing Peter Petrelli again.

**x-X-x**

_There was soft music playing in the background and Peter found himself wondering why he kept coming back to Diamond Dolls. After six torturous, __**long**__ days, she was finally going to be in his arms—albeit, he was paying a hefty fee for a lap dance, but what was money when all he could think about was Kyra and those gleaming green eyes of hers?_

_And now that she was standing before him in the skimpy get-up she wore the first time he'd seen her, how could he possibly be expected to keep his hands to himself when her pouty mouth brought him a fresh and staggeringly powerful memory of the first night she'd kissed him?_

_He'd been so sure that he'd ruined his chances with her after he'd insulted her. He wasn't a fool; he'd seen the way her eyes narrowed, and the way her smooth skin flushed and the way her thick lips thinned—Dear God, what was she __**doing**__ to him?_

_She came to stand in between his legs and began to move with the music. However, he stopped her tempting movements and dragged her into his lap. Winding his fingers through her thick, fiery hair, he yanked it, forcing her to arch her back._

_"No–I**–Ohhh**!" Kyra cried hysterically._

_He pulled her close, ignoring the way she stiffened in his embrace and loving the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin, the curves of her body—_

_"Kyra... Kyra... Kyra!"_

Peter let out a strangled gasp and jerked away from his desk; the sound of the intercom beeping startled him awake. Groping for the button clumsily, he pressed it.

"What?" He demanded roughly.

"Uh... Mr. Petrelli?" The voice started timidly.

Sighing, Peter ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and thought, **God, what's wrong with me? I'm allowing some girl to get to me?**

With an inaudible huff, Peter answered, "Yes, Audrey?"

"There's a Miss Claire Bennet here to see you regarding the internship," Audrey said, quickly regaining her composure.

Inwardly cursing himself for not remembering that he was supposed to meet the five students at Union Wells University today, Peter grunted.

"Sir?" Audrey persisted, annoyance beginning to lace her tone.

"It's fine, Audrey. Send her in now," Peter answered, turning off the intercom.

Fiddling with the mess of papers that littered his desktop, Peter was slightly embarrassed that an interviewee would see how untidy his workspace was. Faintly hearing the door to his office open, he continued to straighten up his desk.

When the door was shut firmly, a distinct feminine voice cleared her throat, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Petrelli."

Surprised by how warm the voice sounded, his fingers quieted against the papers and he looked up into a familiar pair of green eyes.

His eyes grew wide with shock and his mouth parted hungrily, "Kyra..."

* * *


	4. Frustration

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters.

--

**Bold**—Thoughts

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 4:** **Frustration**

Three hours and six wardrobe changes later, Claire stood in front of the glass doors belonging to Petrelli Designs. For a brief moment, she admired her latest choice in attire. It had taken nearly half of the afternoon, but she'd finally settled on a simple black skirt, a white button down blouse and a black blazer.

Doing a half turn to get a better look at herself, she mused, **It's a good thing that this skirt makes me look confident without being overbearing.**

Nodding, she concluded, **I'm definitely dressed to impress and according to Zach, I need to be prepared to do just that since Peter Petrelli isn't a very pleasant man, but I already knew that.**

Momentarily frowning, Claire thought about what Zach had told her earlier, "_Be careful, Claire. He gets a kick out of tormenting his selected apprentices. After all, he made Jackie cry and we both know what a bitch she was._"

Shaking her head, she decided not to let Zach's tales deter her; she'd worked too hard and had come too far to simply give up because of Peter's bad attitude. She was determined to be trained by the best and at that moment, Peter Petrelli was the best; today, she'd convince him that she was best suited to be his apprentice.

A hard jab to her shoulder pulled Claire out of her thoughts and she blinked, fixing her gaze on the glass doors once more. Once she passed through them, she'd be well on her way to meeting the man that would open the door to a world she'd only heard about in class. Rubbing her sore shoulder absentmindedly, she entered the building and looked around with an almost childlike giddiness. The corridor was alive with people and for a brief moment, she realized that this was where she would report for work if she got the position.

**No**, she silently reprimanded. **Not if. **_**When**_** I get the position.**

Walking towards the elevator, Claire pushed the button and waited. Staring down at the black portfolio she was clutching in her right hand, she swallowed thickly; some of her best work was contained inside of it and once Peter saw what she had to offer, there was no way he would turn her away. Blinking, she raised her head when she heard the elevator doors chime. Forcing her unsteady legs to move, she walked into the elevator and stared at the numbers. With shaking fingers, she took a deep breath and pressed the bold button that read the number twenty.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Claire took a deep, steadying breath to calm herself down, **This is it. This will lead me to the man who'll either break me or make me.**

The elevator bell chimed as it slowed down and then the doors opened. Strolling out of the compartment and into the luxurious office suite, Claire realized that, as expected, the place was astonishing. It wasn't the usual office environment with the overabundance of cherry wood furniture. Instead, the place of was a mixture of an exotic island setting filled with history.

She would've never thought of putting the two together, but the set up somehow meshed, **Even if he is an ass, he's still a genius in his own right.**

Hurrying over to the cubicle in the center of the office, Claire saw a young woman sitting at the desk, busily typing away on the keyboard; she didn't seem to notice Claire yet.

**Good**, she inwardly thought. **I need another minute to calm my nerves anyway.**

Staring at the office that sat directly behind the cubicle, Claire read the name on the door and instantly broke out into goose-bumps; Peter Petrelli. Inhaling and then exhaling, she knew she didn't have another minute to waste.

"Excuse me," she started hesitantly.

The young woman jumped, looking startled for a moment and then raised her dark eyes to look at Claire, "Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm Claire Bennet. I have a three-thirty appointment with Mr. Petrelli regarding the position as an intern," Claire said, flashing Audrey a charming smile.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Petrelli has been expecting you. Please take a seat, while I let him know that you've arrived," Audrey said, directing Claire to a nearby sofa.

Claire strolled over to the small sofa and took a seat; she listened on as the female behind the desk made a call to Peter.

After completing the call a short while later, Audrey turned to Claire, "Mr. Petrelli is ready to meet with you now. Just go through that door."

Pointing to the office behind her work station, Claire nodded and politely thanked her. Pausing outside of the door to compose herself, she placed a hand on her chest.

"It's now or never, Claire," she whispered, opening the door and walking into the suite.

For a moment, she did nothing; she simply observed Peter as he tidied up his desk. His smooth, porcelain skin contrasted nicely to the dark, crisp shirt he wore. Dark strands of his unkempt hair fell into his face, shielding his eyes from her view and her eyes fell to his hands as he continued to shuffle the papers on his desk. His fingers were long and lean and yet, in sharp contrast to the elegant shape, his knuckles were thick and rough.

Berating herself for staring at him for so long, she shut the door as quietly as she could and cleared her throat, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Petrelli."

He looked up so sharply that Claire had to resist the urge to scream in fright. Peter's mouth parted with need as Claire's eyes met his own. He saw fear briefly flash through her eyes, unaware that his own dark eyes reflected the blazing fire.

"_Kyra_," He moaned heatedly.

Unbidden, a blush found its way to her cheeks as she realized what kind of effect she—

**No, not me. **_**Kyra**_, she silently reprimanded.

—had on him. Then, as if she remembered what he'd just called her, Claire's hand flew to her head, but she quickly realized that she wasn't wearing a wig.

Pretending to smooth back her hair, Claire tilted her head to the side, feigning ignorance as she regarded Peter carefully, "I'm sorry. Who?"

Inwardly cursing himself, Peter waved his hand dismissively, "I'm sorry. You just reminded me of... someone."

"She must be awfully important if I remind you of her," Claire commented offhandedly, resisting the urge to grin as she walked towards his desk. "May I ask who she is?"

"She's no one," Peter answered roughly; Claire winced.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, lowering her eyes demurely.

Peter inwardly cursed, "No, I should be apologizing. I had no right to snap at you like that Miss..."

Trailing off expectantly, he offered the young blonde his hand and waited for her to give him her name.

"Bennet. Claire Bennet," Claire grinned widely, taking Peter's outstretched hand and shaking it.

She pretended to act as if she hadn't felt a shock run along her arm after she shook his hand and prayed that he didn't feel the same shock. An indescribable look passed in Peter's dark eyes, but before she could analyze it further, he let go of her hand and took a seat, indicating that she do the same.

"I've heard a lot about you Miss Bennet," Peter started, holding out his hand.

"Hopefully, they were good things," Claire grinned cheekily, handing Peter her portfolio.

Studying her face curiously, Peter nodded, "Yes, they were. Mohinder speaks highly of you, which is surprising considering that all he thinks about is himself."

Claire flushed and cleared her throat awkwardly, "I..."

"Don't mind me, Miss Bennet. I tend to stick my foot into my mouth most of the time," he said, flipping through her portfolio and shooting her a small grin.

After a few minutes of silently critiquing her work, he shut the portfolio and raised his dark eyes to look at her.

"I've seen better work come from a toddler, Miss Bennet. Is this the type of talent that Union Wells is putting out these days?" He asked, waving the portfolio around nonchalantly.

Not giving Claire a chance to reply, he thrust her portfolio back at her, "I'm afraid I have no interest in you or your work. Have a nice day."

For a moment, Claire did nothing but gape at him. Then, as if realizing what she'd been doing, she snapped her mouth shut and glared at him.

"Excuse me?" She asked incredulously. "Did you just—"

"Yes, I did, Miss Bennet. Now, please remove yourself from my presence."

"But, you didn't do anything. You just glanced—" Claire started, but the words got stuck in her throat when Peter lifted his eyes to stare at her darkly.

"Are you telling me that I'm incompetent?" Peter asked, clicking his tongue angrily.

Angry that he didn't give her a chance, she scoffed, "If the shoe fits, Mr. Petrelli."

"That is enough, Miss Bennet. I won't have someone like_ you_ talking down to me," Peter sneered distastefully.

"Someone like me? And what is that supposed to mean?" Claire spat angrily, her eyes flashing.

"A child!" Peter hissed.

"A child?" She echoed faintly. "What do you mean a child?! I'm almost twenty!"

"How wonderful," Peter exclaimed sarcastically.

"God, you're such an asshole!" Realizing what she'd just said, she blushed, "Look, I'm sorry. It's just... I have to work with you."

Peter stared at the blonde beauty in front of him. Her jaw was set, her bright eyes were challenging and her mouth... He swallowed hard as his eyes fell to the soft pink flesh of her lips. He'd come across a lot of beautiful women over the years, but none were quite as alluring as the one in front of him. It was subtle, but Peter could feel his body awakening for the second time this week. It just wasn't awakening; the tingle he felt was something he hadn't felt since he'd been with Simone and it felt good.

"I'm sorry, Miss Bennet. I've made up my mind and I don't intend to change it. You're wasting your time," Peter said gently.

"No, I'm not. This job is _mine_ and _you_ know it."

Peter breathed in sharply and then narrowed his eyes, **She's persistent. I'll give her that, but my decision is final.**

"What makes you think that the job belongs to you?" He snarled menacingly. "This job is intended for someone who shows exceptional promise in their work. Promise I didn't see in yours."

Claire's stared at him in disbelief and then she turned away, angry that she was crying over him for the second time this week.

"I'm sorry. I just really want this job," she whimpered, swallowing bitterly.

Peter stared at Claire's back for a long moment; passionate fell short of describing what he'd seen in her eyes just before she'd turned away from him. Her emotion was so raw and so earnest that it actually touched him.

"Hey," he called gently, trying to console her. "Why are you crying? There's no need for those tears. It's only a job. There will be others."

"There won't be others. Not like this one," Claire sniffed, feeling foolish for being distraught.

"I don't get it," Peter shrugged, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "Why is it so important that you have this job?"

"You're the reason why it's so important," Claire exclaimed heatedly, meeting his gaze.

It was Peter's turn to blush as she stared at him with those large green eyes of hers, "Me?"

Claire took a wobbly step forward, "Yes, _you_, Mr. Petrelli. I've dreamed of working under you for so long. You're a genius. I just want a chance to have some of your talent rub off on me. Please, give me another chance to prove to you that I am the person for this job."

He'd said no a hundred times and she still she insisted on having the job. To tell her no again would only serve to add fuel to her fiery determination. Maybe if he humored her, pretended to reconsider and then let her down gently, she would back off and he would be free of this incredibly beautiful, yet extremely annoying woman once and for all.

"All right. I'll give you another chance," Peter sighed.

"Yes," Claire cried, beaming at him. "You won't regret this. I swear!"

"There's only one condition you'll have to meet," Peter quickly added.

"I don't care what it is. I'll do anything."

"All right. You have two days to come up with a logo for Petrelli Designs. It has to be fresh, innovative, but most importantly, I want to see your heart in the piece, Miss Bennet," Peter explained calmly.

"My heart?" Claire gave him a puzzled glance. "I put my heart into all I do."

"No, you don't," Peter replied. "But if you want to work at my side as my apprentice, you'll have to put your heart on paper. You, Miss Bennet, must show me something amazing. If you can't do this, then I will hold to my original decision and you will not harass me further over this. Agreed?"

Peter could tell that he'd completely caught her off guard with the last part of his statement, but it was a fact that the best works contained pieces of the creator's heart. If she could not overcome the small obstacle of putting her heart into her work, then she'd never be the artist she longed to be; in the end, his lessons on the things he knew would be a pointless endeavor.

"Well? Is it an agreement or not? I've wasted enough time with you," he said with another sneer.

Claire met his gaze once more and with the fiery will he'd come to admire over the span of a few minutes, she said, "I'll accept your challenge and win."

Inwardly, she added, **And you, Peter Petrelli, will be eating out of the palm of my–er,** **Kyra's hand, since I know that you want her.**

With an almost mischievous smirk, she walked out of Peter's office, the wheels in her head moving; she hoped that Peter would stop by _Diamond Dolls_ tonight so that she could put her plan into action; he would be hers.

* * *


	5. Temptation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters. Nor do I own _Jakalope_'s song "**Feel It**".

--

_Italicized_—Flashbacks

**Bold**—Thoughts

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

* * *

**Chapter 5:** **Temptation**

"You're doing it again," Niki stated nonchalantly.

Pausing for a brief moment, Claire met Niki's gaze, "Doing what?"

"Twirling your hair around your finger," Niki answered with a small shrug.

"_So?_ What's your point?" Claire snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"Why are you acting so defensive, Claire? I was only stating the facts. Besides, you always do that when you're worried," Niki smiled knowingly.

"Oh," Claire mumbled, lowering her eyes demurely. "Sorry."

"Is it a boy?" Niki asked after critically observing her.

Claire flushed, "Well, it's kind of complicated..."

"So, it _is_ a boy. Who is he?" Niki asked, grinning cheekily.

"Uh, I'd rather not talk about it," Claire gnawed her bottom lip contemplatively.

"Why not?" Niki inquired, tilting her head to the side speculatively.

"Because—" Claire shrugged, unsure of what to say.

**He's a man that everyone knows, considering that he's been on television and in the tabloids. God, how did I manage to get myself into this mess?**

"—He's not really a–a boy. He's actually a _man_," Claire elaborated, inwardly cringing.

Niki's eyebrows rose in surprise, "How old is this _man_?"

Claire shrugged again, "I–I don't know. I didn't bother to ask."

"Claire, what do you _know_ about this man?" Niki asked, her features softening with compassion.

Peter's image came into her focus sharply and Claire was distinctly aware of the warmth flooding her cheeks as she answered Niki, "He's _incredible_."

"Off the planet, huh? You didn't tell me that you were dating anyone," Niki remarked casually, sounding hurt.

"I'm not," Claire said, looking away from Niki and towards the vanity mirror.

"Come again?" Niki asked in disbelief.

"I'm not dating anyone," Claire shrugged flippantly.

"If you don't give me the story—the_ total_ story—" she endorsed, her eyes narrowing fractionally. "—I'll be forced to take dire action."

Claire managed a weak grin, "The short version won't work?"

"Don't even think about it!" Niki exclaimed heatedly.

"All right," Claire sighed in defeat. "It's like this..."

_To ensure that Peter would come to the club tonight so she could put her plan into action, Claire decided to call Petrelli Designs. Swallowing a mouthful of her pride, she punched in the numbers as best as she could with shaking fingers and held the phone to her ear._

**Get a grip, Claire! If you can't talk to him on the phone, how do you expect to seduce him? **_Listening to the phone ring, Claire took a deep breath and waited for Peter's secretary to pick up the phone._

_"Petrelli Designs, how may I help you?" Audrey answered professionally._

**This is it, Claire. You **_**can't **_**back out _now!_**_ Even though she'd mentally prepared herself for this, she suddenly didn't know what to say; for some reason, everything seemed to be backed up in her throat._

_Dimly, she heard Audrey repeat her question, "Hello? Is anyone there?"_

_She sounded like she was on the verge of hanging up and Claire realized that she wouldn't be able to seduce Peter if she did._

_Clearing her throat, her vocal paralysis broke, "Yes, I'd_ _like to speak to Peter, please."_

_Her voice sounded a little less controlled and more huskier than she'd intended and Audrey picked up on it, "Wh–who's this?"_

_"My name is Kyra," she answered saucily._

_"What would you like me to tell Mr. Petrelli, Kyra?" Audrey inquired politely, curiosity lacing her voice._

_"Just..." Claire paused for a brief moment. "Just tell Peter that Kyra wants to see him tonight. Don't worry, my lover __**knows**__ who I am."_

_Audrey sounded scandalized, "Your lover! Who do you—"_

_Claire didn't catch the last part of her words because she hung the phone up. Striding purposefully away from the payphone, she walked towards the train station, knowing she'd have to pick her things up before she went to Diamond Dolls._ _Her expression darkened; tonight, she'd seduce Peter until he was putty in his hands and then she'd crush him. She was fed up with the game he was playing; according to Sylar, he'd stalked and evaluated her—and now, it was judgment day._

_"Look out, Peter," she purred, rubbing her hands together. "You're going to be mine!"_

"And—that's pretty much it," Claire muttered, feeling foolish for not thinking things through. "God, Niki, who am I kidding? I can't pull this off!"

Closing her gaping mouth, Niki exclaimed loudly, "You're trying to _seduce_ Peter Petr—_Mmph!_"

"Shh!" Claire grimaced, clapping a hand over Niki's mouth. "Do you _want_ the whole world to hear you?"

Hesitantly pulling her hand away from Niki's mouth, Claire swallowed thickly, "Look, I know my idea was stupid, but I–I wasn't thinking clearly! This isn't _right_—this isn't _me!_"

Niki opened her mouth to say something, but she faintly heard Sylar introducing her act.

Torn, she struggled to give Claire some advice, "I..."

"It's all right. I don't expect you to give me an answer. I just—" Shrugging, Claire forced a smile. "—wanted you to know. You're like my sister."

"You've got that right," Niki muttered underneath her breath.

"What was that?" Claire asked, her brows furrowing.

"Nothing," Niki shook her head and grinned widely. "I've got to get on stage now, but we'll talk when I get back, okay? I–I need to tell you some things too."

Not giving Claire the time to reply, Niki quickly walked towards the curtain.

Claire stared after her, confused by her sudden change in behavior, **That was **_**weird.**_

With a reluctant sigh, she stood up to inspect herself in the full length mirror upon realizing that she'd be going on stage as soon as Niki finished her performance. The three-piece vinyl firewoman guise she wore completed the red-hot sex appeal she was aiming for.

Claire grimaced with disgust, **It's going to be another night of random lap dances, another night of wearing the fake smile that I've become so accustomed to wearing, another night of asking myself if I'm ever going to quit this job... God, why do I keep doing this to myself?**

It was usually times like these where Claire contemplated quitting, but the thought of her bills and school tuition came to her mind and she knew that she couldn't. She felt trapped by the life she chose for herself. Briefly, she wondered what it was about Kyra that Peter liked so much. Did he see her as someone to do? Or was she something special to him?

Claire inwardly snorted, **There's nothing special about me—er, Kyra. She's a stripper. Peter just wants what Kyra has to offer; a fantasy. There's no emotional connection between us and there never will be, but there's something physical. **

A knock on the dressing room door jarred her out of her thoughts and transported her back to the present.

"You've got a private customer, Claire," Sylar grunted, poking his head into the room.

"Oh, but don't I go on stage as soon as Niki's finished?" Claire asked, cocking her head to the side curiously.

"Not tonight, Claire-bear. Sorry," Sylar frowned.

"Don't worry about it," she answered with a grin. "Just give me five minutes."

Nodding, Sylar left in a huff.

**Why is everyone acting so weird?** She thought, her brows furrowing.

Shaking her head to rid herself of her thoughts, she picked her duffel bag up and placed it on the vanity dresser, so that she could pull out the red patent heels that went with her outfit. Once she strapped on the stiletto heels that were designed to look more like an ankle boot with an open heel and lace up front design, she surveyed her appearance. Despite the fact that she'd done this for a solid four-month period, she always felt nervous before going out.

It wasn't like cheerleading, where she enjoyed being the one that everyone had their eyes on—knowing that half of the guys in the school were trying to picture her naked. Now, she was naked and she didn't take any pleasure in the fact that she knew all eyes were on her; she felt dirty and disgusting. After critically observing her every perfection and imperfection, she walked out of the dressing room.

"He's waiting," Sylar mumbled, stopping Claire as she began to pass him on her way to the private room. "Do you want to use the song you were going to use tonight?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" She asked irately without waiting for an answer.

Taking one last breath, she opened the door and opened her mouth to speak. However, when she saw who was sitting in the private room, she was rendered speechless.

His eyes darkened when he saw her expressive eyes widen, "Hello, _lover_."

"Wha–what are you doing here?" She asked thickly.

"You were the one who called me earlier. Don't you remember?" He asked, the corners of his mouth curling condescendingly. "Or would you like me to repeat what you said earlier?"

"No, I don't want you to remind me," she said, pursing her lips angrily.

"Too bad. Now, what was it that Audrey said earlier?" He muttered, pretending to feign ignorance. "Oh, yes. _Don't worry, my lover __**knows**__ who I am._ So, here I am."

"Damned by my own words," she sneered, feeling a blush of humiliation rise to her glitter tinted cheeks.

"Don't sound so hostile, sweet heart. Now—" his eyes darkened again; Claire shivered with anticipation. "—come here."

For a moment, she thought of walking out, but she knew that she couldn't—she was the one who had issued the challenge.

Settling on the couch a bit more comfortably, he arched a brow at her, his look challenging, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

She laughed hollowly, "Nothing."

"Then, get over here. I'm paying for you, aren't I?" He asked snidely.

It took Claire a full minute to understand what he meant. He didn't want her to talk; he wanted her to do what he was paying her for—to dance and take off her clothes.

"You win," she uttered softly. "What would you like me to do?"

"I want your specialty," he purred hungrily.

She nodded and took a deep breath to try and regain composure. When she was done, she walked over to Peter and began to sway her hips seductively with the song that had been playing during their little _chat_.

_Feast your eyes on my display,  
Take control,  
Fall over me,  
Cover me in ecstasy_

**How ironic**, Claire thought, coming to stand in between Peter's legs.

Peter's eyes darkened as he took in her appearance; Kyra looked stunning in a matching brassier and low-rise thong that was supported by a lace garter and a short firewoman jacket. However, when he saw the seductive grin uplifting her full, glossy lips and the teasing glint flashing playfully in her luminous green eyes, he wondered what she had in store for him.

Swallowing thickly, his mouth went dry when she seemed like she was going to straddle his legs; that was when he knew he had to do something. In one fluid movement, he managed to pull her body firmly into his lap and knew she could feel the evidence of his want. Almost immediately, she gasped and struggled to break free of his hold.

"What do you think you're doing?!" She yelled, sounding hysterical.

"I just want to hold you, sweet heart. Relax," Peter soothed gently.

"Let me g–go," her voice wavered and Peter picked up on it.

"Do you know how much I _want_ you?" He asked, his warm breath ghosting her skin.

"No!" She snapped; she wasn't sure if she meant it, but Claire wanted to deny the turmoil caused by Peter's nearness.

"No?" He echoed, his voice low and mocking.

"No," she repeated firmly, lifting her eyes to gaze at his face; the dark glow in his eyes nearly destroyed her will to resist.

"That pretty mouth of yours is rather dangerous, isn't it?" Peter whispered, completely changing the subject.

To Claire's surprise, he cupped her chin and caressed her lower lip gently with his thumb, "You like to taunt me with it—your mouth, I mean."

"What do you want?" Claire barked; she could already feel her heart pounding in her chest—there were no words to describe the excitement she felt whenever she was near this man...

**... Who you've only met twice**, her conscience nagged.

**No, three times. I've met him three times**, she corrected absentmindedly.

"Don't try to change the subject, Kyra," he snapped.

"If you're done talking about my deadly mouth—" she mocked. "—I think I'll be leaving. Good night, Mr. Petrelli."

She made a move to get up, but Peter's arms tightened around her petite frame, "I'm not done with you yet."

Claire smiled snidely, "What more do you have to say? Are you going to tell me how dangerous my eyes are now? Oh, wait, I know, my nose!"

"No, I came here to tell you that I never want to see your pretty face again," he whispered huskily.

Claire inwardly flinched, "You don't want to see my face again? Then, why are you here?"

"Because there's something I need to find out for myself," Peter answered truthfully.

"Oh? And what's that?" Claire demanded.

"I'll tell you as soon as I know," Peter murmured as his lips connected with hers.

Claire's eyes widened and her entire body went stiff in his arms as that sinful mouth of his toyed with her lips gently. His tongue danced over her lower lip, beckoning for entry and despite her best resolve to deny him, she found herself slowly melting into him. Her body pressed into his rock hard torso as his tongue cleverly slipped into her mouth and massaged her tongue.

**What am doing? I hardly know him**, she thought hazily.

However, his mouth was heavenly and Claire was certain that even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to pry herself away from him. His lips were so firm and soft as he sensually used his tongue to explore her mouth to his satisfaction, but as suddenly as he'd begun his fact-finding mission, he stopped and pulled away, allowing only the slightest contact between their two mouths.

"Your tongue's not as sharp as I expected it to be," Peter announced in a sultry voice, releasing Claire altogether.

Staggering away from him, she stared at him for a long moment and then opened the door. Shutting it firmly, she leaned against it and breathed deeply; her eyes felt heavy, her heart raced and every single inch of her tingled.

**He kissed me and what's worse is that I **_**let**_** him. **

Running her fingers through her unruly red hair, Claire realized that she'd welcomed Peter's kiss with open arms and the strangest thing was, if Peter tried to do it again, she was certain she'd let him.

Claire swallowed nervously, **This is **_**not **_**a good sign.**

* * *


	6. Distractions

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters.

--

**Bold**—Thoughts

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

* * *

**Chapter 6:** **Distractions**

The water was pleasantly warm as Peter slipped into the rapture of his garden bath. Placing his glass and a half emptied bottle of Bourbon on the deck beside him, he turned his dark gaze towards the sliding glass door and the view just beyond; a full moon hovered in navy blue skies and offered up the palest of yellow light—nights like these were usually filled with nostalgia.

**And I'm just the romantic sap to sit here and soak it up**, Half-groaning and half-scowling, Peter slipped deeper into the steamy waters as the jets soothingly pummeled his back with a steady stream of high-pressured water. **I've longed for this moment all day today; a stiff glass of Bourbon and a relaxing soak to ease my mind is what I need... so, why am I thinking of two women? Claire and Kyra are so different and yet so alike; they're both so stubborn.**

A grin eased onto Peter's face when he thought of Claire, **I can't help admiring her gutsy-ness and determination. She challenged me in almost every possible way and not once did she show signs of backing down in her efforts to claim the position as my apprentice... and being pretty kind of does help.**

**You like that she isn't rail-thin like all of those starved girls that they show on television and in magazines. You like that she's a real woman who's ample in all of the right places, don't you, Peter?** His conscience mocked.

Fumbling for his glass of Bourbon, Peter took a healthy portion of the liquid, held the bitter concoction in his mouth for a second and then let it burn its way down his throat slowly, **She wants to work **_**under**_** me—she wants to me to be**_** touched**_** by me, even though she didn't say it in so many words...**

Hearing those words come from that sultry pink mouth of hers had sent his blood aflame, even though he knew what she'd really meant, but he also knew what he would've liked those words to have meant. He was probably wrong for noticing her the way he had. After all, she was still technically a child, but he was a man and no man—old, young or otherwise—would've looked away; Claire was a stunning creature.

Even as Peter sat there—staring out into the night—he could envision the smooth skin of her creamy thighs peeking from beneath the short black skirt she'd been wearing. At one point, he'd even contemplated reaching over and copping a feel, but he knew that would've surely scared her half out of her wits; Claire hadn't known it, but looking at her had made him stiff then and he was stiff now.

Bringing his head down against the headrest, he sighed, **While Miss Bennet's definitely easy on the eyes, had I been looking for someone I could ogle for most the day, she would've been hired on the spot... but the fact is, I'm looking for someone with talent. **

It wasn't that Claire didn't posses any talent— Peter deduced. —She just didn't have the kind of talent he was searching for and even if she had shown just a bit of promise, Peter found that he couldn't ignore the fact that he wasn't sure if _he_ had what it took to take her to the next level.

**She thinks that I'm the one who will put her on the right path, but she's wrong...**

He knew that he wasn't the best graphic designer out there and the fact that Claire actually believed that he was was almost laughable. If she knew half of the truth, then he was sure that she wouldn't feel so strongly about making the internship hers.

Lifting his hands, Peter watched the suds slowly descend from the tips of his fingers to his forearms and then on to the waters surface, **These hands haven't created a masterpiece in years. Nothing that I've put on paper can compare to any of my works from the past. It's almost as if the magic my fingers once held were lost the minute Simone was taken from me and in a way, it was, wasn't it?**

**Yes, it was**, his conscience agreed gravely. **That's why you quit architecture and took up graphic designing. It's just too painful to continue doing something that reminds you of her.**

Peter knew that he missed the nights when he'd come home and find Simone waiting for him; they'd have a candlelight dinner amidst soft music and later, they'd indulge in themselves in the garden bath he'd designed specifically for her. Peter decided that Simone had been a lover from a Greek myth and so, he had designed a bath fit for a Greek goddess; marble floors, four white pillars with strategically placed candle holders and sheer white curtains—a lush greenery indigenous to that part of the world.

It had been costly endeavor, but the look on her face when she saw it for the first time more than made up for it. The nights and hours they would spend submerged in the warm waters making love were countless, but the best part always came later. It was always later when they'd lie in bed and talk about their desire for the future...

**A future that would not come to pass**, Peter clenched his jaw angrily, feeling a throbbing headache begin to form behind his temples; tragedy had been lurking in the shadows, waiting to add one more disappointment to a life that had known so little happiness.

Feeling his heart clench painfully at the thought of his lost love, Peter quickly gave himself a firm mental shaking, **No matter how many times I tell myself that I won't linger in the past, I always find myself right back where I started; longing for her.**

However, he was a realist and he understood that forgetting about Simone was something he could never do, but he also understood that he had to let go. Regretting the past wouldn't change anything; it would only deepen the wound that festered in his heart. Besides, there were issues that needed his immediate attention, like the fact that he had some very important clients coming in in two days to get a look at the drawings he'd promised to have completed...

**Wait... two... days? Oh, shit. Claire's supposed to come in in two days to show me her new design.**

Sinking deeper into the water, Peter's eyes and nose were the only things visible above the water. The more he thought about what angering people as important as the men coming in in two days would mean, the more depressed he became. He realized he was in a bit of a jam and with his current level of creativity, it looked like things would only get worse.

**But there's still one day left**, he thought as a last ditch effort to console himself.

If he could focus, he was certain that he could come up with something that the men would find interesting.

**If I don't focus—** Peter shook his head; he didn't want to think about the consequences of not completing his assignment.

Thinking about the outcome of his failure was just a little too much for a guy that had had one hell of day.

**x-X-x**

_"I want to see your heart in the piece, Miss Bennet..."_

The gauntlet had been thrown down and the line had been drawn; Peter Petrelli had issued a challenge and she had taken him up on it. Although an entire day had passed since Claire's less than favorable encounter with Peter, his words still echoed through her mind as if he had spoken them to her only a few minutes ago.

**How dare he say that I don't put my heart into my work! My heart is in every piece that I've created. If I can't give my art my all, then the piece isn't worth designing...** Moving her pen over the scrap paper with a fevered motion, she began to sketch out the beginning of a masterpiece.

Claire let out a low grunt of irritation; the more she thought about Peter's review of her work, the more determined she became to prove him wrong, **He may have bruised my ego, but I'm not down for the count just yet. I **_**refuse**_** to become his next _victim_.**

While he may have made Jackie cry, have nervous breakdowns and give up on her dream altogether, Claire was not so simple minded as to allow his depressing review undo her; it would be the fuel to propel her to success, **After tomorrow, the job **_**will**_** be mine.**

"Claire?" A voice sounded from behind her; she practically jumped out of her skin.

Looking over her shoulder, she found that the figure who had spoken to her was...

"Zach?!"

Releasing the breath she had been holding, she stared at the man that ambled through the open door.

"I knocked, but you didn't answer, so I let myself in," Zach smiled disarmingly when Claire narrowed her eyes at him.

"_How_ did you let yourself in? I keep my door _locked_," she turned around to fully face him.

Smiling sheepishly, Zach rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Uh, well, you see, that's a very interesting story..."

Sighing, Claire held out her hand, "Give it to me."

Zach smirked, "Well, all right. There's no need to get pushy, Claire-bear. I just didn't know you wanted_ it _in your—"

He glanced around her study, "—sanctuary."

"You _know _what I meant, Zach. Give me my keys," Claire murmured tiredly.

"I'm sorry, Claire, but you make it so easy sometimes. Here," he said, handing her a copy of her keys.

"Thank you," she huffed.

"So, what are you doing?" He asked curiously.

"Working on my new drawing. I guess I must have been pretty out of it to not hear anyone at the door," Claire replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we could go out to eat," Zach answered with a small shrug.

"I wish I could, but I need to finish this," she gestured towards the scrap paper. "How about a rain check?"

Zach didn't answer her; instead, he walked towards the scrap paper and lifted his hand to stroke the paper gently, "I never cease to be amazed at how you can pull such wonderful images from your head and place them on paper."

"What do you think? Do you like it?" Claire welcomed honest feedback where her work was concerned and Zach was just the person to give her that.

Although he was her friend, he had never held back once; if her work sucked, it sucked and if it was good, it was good, but he never lied to her.

Zach angled his head and pursed his lips as he examined the piece closely, "I like the simplicity in this. You should make _Petrelli Designs_ a little more bolder, but other than that, I think this is one of your better works."

"You think so?" Claire asked, her eyes bright.

Zach rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't feel that way, Claire."

"I feel so relieved. I was beginning to doubt if this would be good enough to convince Peter that I'm the one for the internship," she beamed up at him.

"You didn't get the job?" Zach's brow furrowed.

"No," she shook her head slowly, a bitter taste in her throat. "I didn't get the internship."

"Why not?"

"He said that I didn't put my heart into my work, but that was after he said he had seen better work from pre-schoolers," Claire frowned indignantly.

"I told you," Zach muttered.

"I get it, Zach. He's a jerk," Claire huffed. "But, I still want to work under him. There's no one like him and that's why I have to convince him that I'm the person he's been looking for."

"But, you said he already made his decision," Zach murmured pointedly.

"Well, he did, but he's giving me another chance," Claire grinned. "That job is as good as mine."

"That's my girl. I'm sure you'll get the job," Zach turned and headed for the door.

Reluctantly trailing after him, she allowed her thoughts to drift for a moment, **I can't believe how much I've changed because of Peter. I've found myself doing things I normally wouldn't do. How could I let him kiss me? I don't even like him, especially since he practically called me a whore... Urgh, what am I going to do?**

Zach's hand hovered over the doorknob, "Make sure you lock up."

"I will. Thanks, _mom_," she grinned lightly.

"All right, then. See you around, Claire," Zach called and then disappeared out the door.

Leaning against the door, Claire allowed her eyes to close. She jumped up a moment later when she heard the shrill sound of her telephone.

Reluctantly walking towards her small kitchen, she picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Hello, Claire-bear. How have you been feeling these last couple of days?"

Blinking with surprise, Claire pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it stupidly.

Placing the phone back to her ear a moment later, her voice was soft, "Gabriel? Why are you calling me?"

"I told you, Claire-bear, I want to know how you've been feeling these last couple of days."

Not knowing where he was going with this, Claire cocked her head to the side, "What do you mean? Is there something wrong with my performance because I—"

Sylar chuckled huskily, "No, no, it's nothing like that, Claire-bear. Your moves are still as flawless and as graceful as ever. But, I wanted to check up on you."

"Why?" Claire asked, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly.

"Because you seem distracted lately," Sylar answered bluntly. "It's like you're not entirely here at times."

"Oh," she bit her bottom lip contemplatively.

"Look, I think we need to talk. Could you come in tomorrow?"

"I–sure," she murmured weakly.

"Great. See you tomorrow, Claire-bear."

Pulling the phone away from her ear when the line went dead, she felt her brow furrow, **That was... weird.**

Returning the phone to its base, she returned to her study. Her eyes fell on to the scrap paper; it was still incomplete, but suddenly, she didn't feel quite as motivated as she did before due to the knot that had formed in her gut.

**Oh, my God. I'm an idiot. How the hell do I manage to get myself into these situations? And what am I going to do? I can't be in two places at once.**

The prospect of losing her dream job and losing her current job didn't sit well with Claire. Peter was expecting her tomorrow and she knew that he wouldn't be happy if she stood him up, especially since she had poured her heart out to him. She was also pretty sure that Sylar wanted to tell her something pretty important if he wanted her to come in a day early.

Sighing, she began to beat her forhead with her hand, **This is just _great_.**

**x-X-x**

After hanging up the phone, Sylar found himself leaning back in his comfortable leather recliner.

Staring at the man seated across from him unflinchingly, he asked, "Step one is complete. What now?"

The man seated across from him grinned, "We wait."

Frowning at him, Sylar murmured, "Why are you so interested in Claire?"

For a moment, the man seated across from him seemed like he wouldn't answer him.

A moment later, his lips parted and he exhaled a soft sigh, "I'm _always_ interested in the women my brother comes to care for..."

* * *


	7. Exposed

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters.

--

**Bold**—Thoughts

"Blah... Blah... Blah..."—Talking

* * *

**Chapter 7:** **Exposed**

Peter stared down at his latest design with disgust. He had a very important job to complete and he was scheduled to make his presentation in a couple of hours.

**Damn it! There's no way I can present this drawing to the men coming in today**, he let out a low groan. **This has got to be the worst work I've created yet.**

Tearing the sketch out of his drawing pad, he crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. Leaning back in one of the leather recliners he owned, he closed his eyes. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but the low hum within him had steadily become as loud as a beating drum. He had tried his best to ignore the loneliness that he had been feeling as of late, but it hung over him like a dark cloud—particularly, because Simone's death date was coming up and he knew that he couldn't just ignore it anymore or pretend that it didn't exist.

The truth of the matter was, her death was all his fault. At the funeral, when he covered her soft hand with his shaky one and peered down at her serene, lifeless face, he murmured a short, _I'm sorry_, tears burning the back of his eyelids and a lump in his throat—_I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, I'm sorry I couldn't save you, I'm sorry for killing our child._

Moments later, Peter distinctly remembered her father, Charles Deveaux, warming his side and settling a hand over his own, silently forgiving him. That was when he felt shame overwhelm him because it reminded him of how he completely failed his father-in-law; the sight of their hands clasped over Simone's dead body was more vulgar than the dirtiest things he had ever done in his entire life and unable to stomach the sight anymore, he slid his hand out from under Charles' own and slipped out of the church, hoping that the older man would understand his apology extended to him as well.

Peter sighed and sat up, **This bitterness is threatening to swallow me whole.**

For a brief moment, the thought of seeking therapy crossed his mind, but he decided that therapists were for crazy people and he sure as hell wasn't crazy; just restless and in need of something he would probably never know again. Glancing at his watch, he let out a grunt when he realized it was five minutes to ten.

"Perfect," he whispered hollowly, glancing around his spacious home.

While it was huge and modern, with lots of glass and black leather, along with acres of white tiles, stainless steel appliances and geometrically patterned rugs, it was dark; there were dark curtains almost everywhere and recessed lighting—the place seemed almost cold and soulless.

**I need to redecorate**, Rolling his eyes when he realized his train of thought, Peter stood up, walked over to his closet and pulled out his coat.

Moments later, he was gripping his sketch pad as he descended the stairs of his home; he was hoping he would find some inspiration at work. Opening the rear door to the cab that he had called a few minutes prior, he climbed in.

"Where to?" The cabby asked, peering at him through his rearview mirror.

"Petrelli Designs, on West fifty-fourth and ninth," he answered curtly, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and leaning back in the seat.

"Yes, sir."

The cab coasted into open traffic and Peter could sense the burgeoning of butterflies deep in his gut, but he promptly ignored it. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of peace.

**x-X-x**

Claire wrung her hands together nervously as she paced in front of the vanity mirror. She had shown up a lot later than she had originally intended because she had spent most of the night finishing the artwork for the deadline Peter had set for her. As she glanced at the clock, part of her secretly feared that she wouldn't be there in time to greet him. Before she could drive herself crazy with her own thoughts, however, the door to the dressing room finally opened. Claire's heart jumped into her throat and something akin to disappointment rose and fell as she turned to face Sylar.

She quickly shook the feeling off and offered a shaky smile, "Hey, Gabriel. You wanted to speak with me?"

He flashed her a dazzling smile, "Can I have a word with you in my office before you start your shift?"

A frown furrowed between her brows, "My... shift? What exactly do you mean? Don't I work tomorrow?"

He shook his head, "Niki's been feeling under the weather lately. So, I'll need you to cover for her. You don't mind, do you?"

He didn't give her a chance to reply as he continued, "This new client is highly respectable, so could you change into one of your outfits and meet me in my office in fifteen minutes? He'd like to meet the famous Kyra."

"I..." she bit her lip and then sighed softly. "All right."

He shot her another brilliant smile, but something about it looked cruel, "Good. I'll see you in a few."

He promptly shut the door behind him and Claire swallowed the feeling of disappointment that welled up within her as she met her gaze in the vanity mirror, "Well, I guess this means goodbye to the dream job. Hello, reality."

She sighed and shook her head, preparing herself for another round of humiliation as she zipped open her duffel bag and tossed it onto the dresser.

**x-X-x**

Twenty minutes later, Claire was seated in one of Sylar's plush chairs behind the desk as she casually observed the layout of his oval office. She had always loved his flare for taste since the decorum went for casual with an electric edge. The room was a mix of tan, grays and reds, complimenting colors that enhanced the aesthetic properties of the office.

Eight foot mahogany double doors stood at the entrance with a giant stone fireplace adjacent to them, tan couches sat at either side of the room, along with small pedestal tables accompanying each, a series of miniature chandeliers aligned on the lofty ceiling, a gray-red Rosetta stoned mini bar lay across from the fireplace and his black, marble desk sat towards the back of the room. The office was a stark contrast to the theme of his club and was a revitalizing deviation that Claire had no qualms about.

Folding her legs underneath her comfortably, she cleared her throat, "So, uh..."

"Is something wrong, Claire-bear?" Sylar asked curiously.

"Oh, no. Well, actually, I'm just curious as to who this new client of your is," she murmured, flushing underneath his scrutiny. "Is this why you wanted me to come in today? To meet this new client of yours?"

The corners of Sylar's mouth lifted, "Partially."

He then strode to his mini bar and poured himself a glass of brandy, "Can I get you something to drink? Scotch? Vodka? Apple juice?"

She quirked a brow, a light smile turning up at the corners of her mouth, "And why do _you_ have apple juice in a club known for its exploitation of liquor?"

"Well," he began, pouring the tawny colored liquid into a glass. "It just so happens that I have one very important person close to me that dislikes the taste of alcohol."

He gathered both of the glasses in his hands and walked over to where she sat, "And I _know_ that her favorite drink happens to be apple juice, so I always make sure I have some in stock."

"You know me well," she grinned, gratefully taking the glass of juice.

The hard shape of the glass struck a chord within her and she pursed her lips together, trying to recall why she was reacting to the shape of a glass cup. Something curled in her stomach as she remembered Peter's outer exterior towards her and for a moment, her blood began to heat.

**Stop it**, she thought furiously, grinding her teeth together. **Stop thinking about him.**

Downing the glass' contents without another moment's hesitation, Claire allowed the sweet nectar to cascade past the dry walls of her throat, "So, what's up?"

Leaning against the edge of the desk, Sylar finished his drink in one gulp and set the glass down beside him, his gaze refocusing on her, his eyes now absent of everything but concern, "Have you been feeling all right the last couple of days?"

Not knowing where he was going with this, she cocked her head to the side in question, "What do you mean?"

Lowering himself to the floor on one knee so that they were eye level, Sylar took her hands in his own, worry etched into his features, "I'm talking about that distracted look in your eyes. I know I've said that you're not entirely here at times, but you look unhappy. Are you unhappy, Claire-bear?"

Claire squirmed in the chair, uncomfortable with the matter at hand, as well as his proximity, all too aware of the heat emanating from his large, protective hands.

She swallowed audibly, "I, uh, why do you ask? Have there been complaints about my performances?"

"No, it's not that. I'm worried about you. You don't..." he hesitated, fishing for the right words. "You haven't been yourself as of late."

He held up a hand to quiet her before she could speak, "Don't try to deny it because I can see it in your face when you're both offstage and onstage."

**I can't believe this. First, he has an effect on my school work and now on my work.**

Careful to not reveal her bitter thoughts from displaying outwardly, she settled for looking at her lap, "I've been really stressed out with balancing work and finishing up my artwork for Mr. Petrelli's review."

"Are you sure that's the problem?" Flinching slightly as he touched the side of her face, she lifted her gaze and met his quizzical eyes. "Are you sure that you're not... _bothered_ by _my_ close proximity?"

"I, uh, no," she answered, still squirming uncomfortably.

"Well, then, let's test that theory, shall we?" He scooted closer until she could feel his breath on her face.

"Wha–what are you doing?" She stammered nervously.

He didn't answer her and she suddenly felt a sudden pull on her head; the red wig she wore was tugged off of her scalp roughly, letting her slightly curled blonde locks fall over her shoulders. The room was eerily quiet for a moment and then all hell broke loose.

Claire was too shocked to speak and when she heard a sharp intake of breath, her throat tightened painfully. Turning her head to the open mahogany doors, she met the bewildered and hurt gaze of a very familiar man.

Her chin quivered briefly, her mind still foggy with the recent stunt Sylar had just pulled.

"Oh, God," she managed. "_Pe–Peter?_"

* * *


End file.
